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<title>The Devil Dreams by Sedona_Eats_Ortolans</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784978">The Devil Dreams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans/pseuds/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans'>Sedona_Eats_Ortolans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst to Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post Fall, Post S3, hannibal has night terrors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans/pseuds/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has a series of lucid nightmares, each one centered around Will. When he finally awakes, Will is there to comfort him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hannibal/Will, hannibal x will, hannigram</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Devil Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hannibal opened his eyes in a room. An office, with an orderly desk and stacks of papers complete with a set of polished mahogany bookshelves against the opposite wall. He got up, forgetting ever sitting down, his hands idly tracing across the spines of the books aligned inside: they were all his favorites, declared in looping calligraphy and varying alphabets.<br/>
He had to move. He had the instinct, the command of a feeling. He wordlessly paced from the doors of the office to the vast hall beyond. It was nothing like he had seen before- the walls were frescoed like museum exhibitions in Rome, the floor covered in a tiled mosaic. He turned for that familiarity of books he had once known intimately, but the office was gone. The hallway extended infinitely.<br/>
He started walking forward- he became aware he was wearing one of his more preferred suits, the black and red patterned one that often made him think of blood in the night.<br/>
The mosaic on the floor was spelling something in Latin, something unfurling at his feet in a fumbling puzzle of sapphire and onyx. Hannibal couldn’t read it- as hard as he tried, he could never get past the first word, “Amatus”. He kept walking, and the word kept tumbling along ahead of him, tiles arranging in words beyond that stayed blurred to him. He stopped when he heard slowed footsteps ahead. He froze when he looked up. It was not who he was expecting.<br/>
“Will.” Will, at the end of the wall, falling to the floor gushing blood. The blood ran in little tendrils between the tiles until they reached Hannibal’s shoes like outstretched fingers. He couldn’t move. Will couldn’t hear him. Will, bleeding out just beyond his reach.<br/>
What was (in some ways) more jarring than Will’s injuries was the fact it was him there in the first place. Usually in dreams, when he paced the halls of his memory palace lost in the lucid snares of his mind, it was Mischa. Always Mischa. And now…<br/>
Will screamed, the kind of piercing wail that Hannibal had never actually heard from his lips before. It sounded synthetic, something crafted idly between the sparks of neurons clashing together.<br/>
Hannibal stopped. Stopped everything. Stopped thinking, stopped breathing, stopped the mounting sense of dread increased by the distant sound of screams and some kind of orchestral music. It was all a performance.<br/>
“Wake up.” He whispered to himself. Will’s screams increased, but they sounded distant- a realization both terrifying and reassuring. He isn’t real. This was all a construct of his own mind. In a moment, he could open his eyes and it would all disappear to his bed, beside the real Will. He wanted the real Will.<br/>
Hannibal closed his eyes. No matter how brilliant the man, his mind always contained the elements to craft a cage.<br/>
“Wake up.” He said once more, his voice a kind of stolen whisper. No one needed to hear him, he only needed to say it. His hands curled into themselves- not fists, something more meant for grounding than striking.<br/>
*“Wake up.”*</p><p>Hannibal opened his eyes. He was in their bedroom, finally awake- his eyes felt wet and his hands were gripping the sheets like they were something to strangle. His breaths were more even than he had expected. It was absolutely dark, except for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.<br/>
The curtains were open. They never slept with the curtains open.<br/>
He turned to Will’s sleeping form, his back facing him. He looked peaceful. His hair was dark and unruly as ever. He looked like home.<br/>
“Will, are you awake?” Hannibal asked quietly, his hand reaching out to feel his bare shoulder.<br/>
It was a mistake touching him.<br/>
The moment he did, Will rolled over onto his back, revealing the gaping wound- hole, more accurately- in his chest. His heart was gone. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open like he was screaming, but he was long dead. He was a corpse.<br/>
Hannibal didn’t flinch, or jump, or recoil- only soft words caught in his throat and his hand lingered on cold skin.<br/>
No. This wasn’t happening. No.<br/>
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.</p><p>Hannibal opened his eyes. He was in their bedroom, finally awake. The blankets had been pulled to Will’s side in their sleep- he felt cold. The window was open. There was a breeze.<br/>
“Will.” He breathed, turning to the side. He needed to see him. He needed his beloved, he needed the life that came from beholding him.<br/>
He nudged the pile of sheets next to him. They quickly revealed that there was, in fact, no one underneath them. Hannibal was alone. The memories of his dream clung to his throat, waiting to restrict and choke him all at once.<br/>
He blinked.<br/>
No.<br/>
No, this was real. Surely.<br/>
Surely.<br/>
“Will?” He asked again, just as their bedroom door started to open. It was dark, so dark all he could see was a shadow, until that shadow stepped from the door and took on the shape of Will.<br/>
“Hannibal. I’m sorry.” The closer he came, the more Hannibal could see. The blood on him, on his clothes, on his hands, on the knife in his hand. Coming from his nose, his mouth, his eyes. He didn’t look like Will, and he sounded like something else.<br/>
“What are you?” Hannibal stayed frozen in their bed. He didn’t know if he couldn’t move, or if he chose not to. Where would he go? Will crept closer. The knife in his hands was the same one Hannibal had used to gut him in the kitchen. He was at the bed now, a knee pressed against the mattress as he leaned to reach for him.<br/>
“Don’t you recognize me, dear?” His voice was cold; it sent shivers unbidden through Hannibal’s spine, and still he didn’t move. Will was practically on top of him, leaning closer and closer until his face was right in front of his. He smiled. The blood on his teeth looked black. “I’m you.” He drove the knife into Hannibal’s chest, and dragged it all the way down. He was laughing while he did it.<br/>
“You can’t do it, can you?” Will crooned as little gasps came from Hannibal’s lips. “You can’t wake up.” </p><p>This happened five more times. Five more times, opening his eyes in their bedroom and watching Will die, kill him, or be killed. It was something like torture, and something like dying on a loop. Despite himself, every time he hoped and he called out, and every time it ended in blood. </p><p>When he did wake up, as we all must, it was discreetly. He didn’t gasp or jump- his eyes opened, a sigh that might’ve begun as a prayer but died unclean on his lips pressed from his lungs. It was all the same, only for the first time, the window was closed. And when he turned to look, Will was facing him, sleeping peacefully. He could only think that if this was a continuation of a dream, it was likely the most peaceful beginning of a dreaded death. He sat up, leaning against the head of the bed with a little dejected thud.<br/>
Here I am. Waiting for my own mind to get me.<br/>
“Hannibal?” His voice. It was the softest blade between his ribs.<br/>
“Will.” Hannibal swallowed, his gaze trained on the stray strands of moonlight cascading across the carpeted floor. The sooner he faced Will, the sooner he would look horror in the eyes.<br/>
“What’s wrong? What time is it?” Hannibal heard shuffling beside him, like Will was sitting up. His hand was on Hannibal’s, curling around it slowly but tightly. “Hey.”<br/>
Hannibal closed his eyes. One more moment with his voice.<br/>
When he finally turned to face him, there was no fiery demon or frozen corpse. It was just...Will. Eyes squinty in the dark, hair a mess. He looked beautiful. Hannibal cautiously considered the thought of reality finally falling into his palm. His hand turned, returning the hold on Will’s.<br/>
“Bad dreams, mylimasis. I didn’t mean to wake you“<br/>
“How many times have I woken up screaming?”<br/>
“You know that I don’t mind-“<br/>
“And neither do I.” Will’s lips quirked upwards. This was real. “Come on, lie down.” He coaxed Hannibal back under the covers, pulling him close for a brush of a goodnight kiss and settling down with his arms around him. His breathing was long, steady. Hannibal matched it, their inhales and exhales rising and falling. Hannibal watched him slip away, mumbling little bits of nonsense in his sleep like he always did. And then, despite his better or more paranoid instincts, he too fell asleep.</p>
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